


Your Finest Hour

by fauxcorona



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: 1980s, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Music, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-22 23:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16607159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauxcorona/pseuds/fauxcorona
Summary: Being a gentleman is something that one learns, and so, Kingsman changes you. On the other hand, it shouldn’t let you forget your roots, according to fellow agent Galahad.





	Your Finest Hour

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, sweeties! I decided to write this when something amazing I watched a couple of days ago somehow inspired me (would not spill the title because that'd be a spoiler!) And guess what, I'm starting to enjoy writing Harry Hart/Reader, you can expect more coming from me ;) Hope you enjoy this story, especially if you're looking for a playful Harry Hart!

1985 was indeed a weird year for you. Back in college days, you imagined that in that year, you would be having a nice job, entering an endless loop that is working and paying the bills, finding a decent man to be your partner, and so on.

And yet here you are, working for a top secret agency with a tailor shop as its façade, a high-risk job where any of your ordinary day could be your last, with you as the first female agent _ever_.

The fact that you had never expected yourself to end up here, told you that perhaps you’ve been underestimating yourself all these time, but still you couldn’t deny that every day felt hard to you at Kingsman. And if there was anyone who was able to make your days felt easy, it was Harry Hart.

 

* * *

 

“Chopin?” you asked, hearing the soft classical music playing as you entered Harry’s study room at the HQ. “No. It’s Bach.” he corrected, gesturing to let you sit down. “Oh shoot,” you muttered, knowing it was the third time you had the wrong guess of Harry’s music that week.

Being a newly recruited junior Kingsman agent, you realized you had been trying so hard to do everything it takes to make you a _true_ Kingsman. Because you knew, that being a gentleman is something that one learns. Your mentor, Bedivere, did teach you about mannerisms, but you found so much more to learn once you were in the squad. Like, what books to read, which newspaper to subscribe—things that supplement you for being well-mannered and resourceful. Things that make a gentleman, a gentleman.

Agent Galahad joined Kingsman only five years earlier than you, but he looked and sounded like he had been around for long. You looked up to him, as a junior agent whose skills nearly matched the senior ones. You could count on him, since the small age gap between the two of you had benefitted you a profound friendship. And somehow, you were damned to think that perhaps your heart had grown fonder of him, since God knows when.

“You know what, I think I really need to learn a thing or two about classical music from you.” you said as you sat down and began to exchange your papers with him. “Like, _really_.”

“Why?” Harry asked, amused but slightly confused by your emphasized statement. “I feel like an idiot for not knowing basic classical tunes, Harry. _So_ unladylike.” you simply answered, and again emphasizing your last two words.

“Nonsense,” he replied, “being a lady or a gentleman’s got nothing to do with one’s taste in music.” he continued, standing up and went to his vinyl player. “I listen to these just because they help me to work.” he bent down, taking a few records from the drawer then went back to his desk and handed them to you. “Try them to start,” he said as you took the records from him, then you quickly read the songs list at the back of each sleeve.

“And then, I’ll take you to the opera next week.” Hearing that, you shot him a surprised but skeptical look. You really didn’t expect him to be this well-planned for your spontaneous request. “That sounds more like a command than an offer,” you responded. “Indeed,” he answered shortly, a small mischievous grin plastered on his face. “Trust me, it’s a kind of opera you would never want to miss,” he added.

“Very well,” you finally said, getting up to dismiss yourself.

“Can I borrow your headphones some time, though?” Harry asked, and that stopped you from making your way to the door. _Nothing comes free, eh?_ Just like you often spending your time working at his study room with the record player on, sometimes Harry liked to visit yours and watched you working with headphones on. It was one of many simple routines at Kingsman that you enjoyed the most.

“I don’t see why you need it, but you can always snatch it from my desk,” you answered with a chuckle. “See you at the opera, Galahad.” you bid your farewell, and then left his room.

 

* * *

 

**_One week later_ **

“WHAT on earth?” you blurted out, the moment you opened your front door to greet Harry. “Didn’t you say we’re going to an _opera_?” you looked him up and down, making sure your eyes didn’t deceive you.

According to your itinerary, you had expected to see him in his most dashing tuxedo, a bowtie and a shiny pair of oxfords. And yet here he was, standing with a casual but no less luxurious look that you thought you’d never see: white t-shirt, brown suede jacket, simple patterned trousers, and a pair of leather boots. His brown hair was suave still, but his bangs fell down a little.

You looked back up, his eyes looking straight at you and a small childish grin formed on his face. “Yes, I _did._ We’re going to an opera.” he answered simply. You shot him an angry and confused look, then you looked down to your own outfit. It couldn’t be anything to do with him not owning any formal attire other than his daily Kingsman suits, could it?

So yes, Harry seemed to be up for something.

“Whatever you’re planning, Harry, but are you suggesting me to _change_ these?”

He looked down at your black long dress and smiled, “You might want to,” he replied. Of course, you weren’t satisfied with his short response. “Is this why you arrived an hour earlier than our schedule?” you asked, eyes still staring his sharp.

You hated this surprise, but you’d be lying if you say you weren’t pleased to see this side of Harry. And somehow, you started to wonder if he did this to everyone when being outside of work, or it was simply because he was going out with you. The latter stirred your feelings if only a little, somehow, and you quickly ignored the thoughts.

The moment he nodded his head, you sighed and rolled your eyes, storming back inside your flat to change your clothes but let him come inside to wait for you anyway. “Y/N, dear,” Harry called from behind you and you turned to give him a ‘what?’ look. “You look stunning, by the way.” he complimented with a smile, as his gaze returned to your face from your dress.

“Thank you?” you replied, and sounded unsure because you were still confused by his behavior. His warm smile turned to a mischievous one once again within a moment, and you continued your pace to your room. His sly grin didn’t leave his face until you were out of his sight. At least, he came earlier to make it a well-planned surprise.

Within 20 minutes, you were back downstairs. You had no idea what kind of occasion you were about to attend, so you just put on anything casual that still matched Harry’s style.

“Took me days to figure out how to doll up for an opera. Now, minutes to showtime, I just took whatever on the top of the shelf.” you said, shrugging your shoulders and looked down to your outfit, slightly lacking of confidence.

“Nonsense,” Harry smiled, took your hand and leaned down to kiss the back of it, to your surprise—as if you were still the lady with a charming opera glam. “You’re beautiful, top shelf or not.”

To you, it wasn’t so special when you only wore a dark pleated midi dress with a brown bomber jacket and a pair of tall boots—but it was indeed something else when all you received was a contented smile and an admiring look that came from your favourite lad from Kingsman, Harry Hart.

 

* * *

 

“You could just say we’re going to a rock concert, Harry.” you said, shaking your head in disbelief—in a good way.

 _Live Aid 1985_. You had been dying to see that, but life at Kingsman was always unpredictable, even when you’re in holiday. You turned to see Harry, realizing how you had only been admiring him on the surface all these time—and seeing _this_ Harry, made you wonder even more.

“Element of surprise, love. Element of surprise.” he replied with a proud smile, and you could only chuckle as a response, shaking your head again still in disbelief.

The crowd cheered, the band came up the stage, ready to make the most of the evening for everyone. Within a moment, came a familiar tune played on a piano, and you quickly shot Harry with a shocked look at the realization.

 

“Shit, Harry you ain’t lying! THIS FREAKING OPERA!” you half-shouted in excitement, then the two of you laughed both at the reveal and the unladylike words you spoke out of sheer excitement.

And so, that Britain’s top rock band played Bohemian Rhapsody and the crowd sang along to it, including you and Harry.

( <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A22oy8dFjqc> )

 

The song was followed by other hits that you knew every word in the lyrics. Of course, Freddie Mercury’s voice haunted you. Yes, Brian May’s guitar sent you to other dimension, and so did Roger Taylor’s energetic tempo and John Deacon’s melodic bass lines. You were happy, contented, hypnotized, but still, what made you wonder if you were not dreaming was the Kingsman beside you; he sang every word of the lyric just like you did, he danced along with you and the crowd around you, he cheered, he shared his heartful laugh with you. A few hours ago you expected to see him dapper in his tuxedo, but now you were thankful to see _this_ Harry Hart.

“How the hell did you know…?” you asked him as you two walked back home, arms on each other’s back because you two were _so_ drunk, both your steps were slow and clumsy. _Well, it was a music festival…_

“Your headphones, Y/N. You were listening to Queen with your headphones the other day but I could hear you from the outside, I swear to God. Surprised you didn’t get any hearing problems,” Harry answered, and you roared with laughter as a response. “Honestly, Y/N, you could’ve just use your vinyl player.” he suggested.

“I would if you’d stop playing classical music at the Savile Row for once, _Galahad.”_ you replied, your emphasized word at the end half-mocking your stiff upper lip spy agency. “Being a gentleman’s about being comfortable in one’s own skin, eh?” you added.

“Damn right,” Harry answered, then you both broke into a fit of laughter and carried on to make your way to your flat.

 

* * *

 

You woke up the next morning, realizing you had been hardly drunk the previous night because you found yourself waking up on the floor, with your back leaning on the edge of your sofa, still with the clothes you and Harry wore to the concert except the jackets.

Harry, no less drunken than you, woke up just when you shifted from your position, his arm clinging on your shoulders and his head leaning on the side of yours.

“Morning,” you greeted, trying to get through your awful hangover. Harry turned his head a little to see you and sighed. “Morning,” he replied helplessly. At this moment you were very close and just stared at each other, too tipsy to exchange another word. Then you both chuckled in unison at the awkward silence, and at the acknowledgement of each other’s hangover.

You turned your face from him, trying to move but it was hopeless. So you decided to attempt even the slightest move, which you succeeded only in grabbing the TV remote on the floor next to you.

You turned the TV on, while Harry’s still not moving beside you, and the first news that appeared was from yesterday’s Live Aid. The festival received a huge acclaim from everywhere, you saw many commented and considered it as something monumental in the history of British music. They played some footages from yesterday, and it came to a moment when they reported about Queen’s performance.

 _“Ay-oh,”_ you heard Freddie initiating the sing-along on the TV, and you followed him _again_. _“Ay-oh,”_ he chanted again, and you followed him still—and this time, Harry suddenly came along with a helpless voice, and the rest left you watching the TV with your mouth dropped open.

 

 _“That’s amazing,”_ you blurted out in awe, “and we were there in the crowd.” you continued. “Yes,” Harry responded, “he did that as if the crowd was his musical instrument.” he commented, and you couldn’t agree more.

 

You kept your eyes fixed on the screen and your ears open to Freddie’s _‘dee-day-dee-day-oh’_ on the TV.

 

“We were there,” you said again, shaking your head in disbelief and chuckled.

“Yes,” Harry responded, “we were.”

“Jesus, Harry, we were part of a freaking history,” you could barely contain your excitement as you turned your face and see him, and you chuckled again.

“Yes,” he responded again, this time followed with a small nod. “Yes, Y/N.”

 

And you swore to God, it was the first in your lifetime you had ever want to kiss someone without a second thought. Your first kiss with Harry, took place on an improper space that was your floor and your edge of your sofa, took time when you were both recovering from your hangover, but you did have your finest hour, and you’d been part of a _bloody_ history—and that’s thanks to Harry.

And the most important thing was, it happened when you both were fully at ease around each other. Comfortable at your own skins.

 

Your kiss was short and sweet, and helpless at the very least due to the drowsiness from the hangover, but it did tell your feelings and your gratitude. Harry was silent as he was taken by surprise, his eyes followed your moves as you leaned back from the kiss but his body froze.

“Thank you Harry,” you said so softly, it came out as a whisper.

“You were the one who gave the inspiration,” he finally said and smiled, and you chuckled as a response. “Glad you put your headphones on with a bloody high volume, that day.” he added, not willing to take any credit of the happiness you both felt now.

“If I may, can I borrow some of your rock records and take it to the HQ some time?” you suddenly asked, and Harry let out a small laugh. “Of course you can,” he replied, reaching out to stroke your cheek softly.

“That’s my girl,” Harry replied, before pulling you for another kiss, this time he took the lead for a long, tender, and passionate kiss. His lips danced slowly on yours, and the intensity grew as you both fell and surrender to each other’s embrace and deeper kisses. And the next thing you knew, the rest of the morning was you and Harry’s history, that you both would cherish forever.

**Author's Note:**

> YASSSS sweeties, BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY WAS SO GOOD I CRIED MY EYEBALLS OUT! Just had so much feelings watching it, and I write when I feel too much *sigh* anyway, I just loved the Live Aid scene so much, almost as much as the original concert, and the thought of creating a HC of Harry Hart attending the concert around that time sounded fun to me. So yeah, I'd like to dedicate this work to the legendary Queen, the brilliant movie, and the amazing actors. They all did such a magnificent work :)


End file.
